


fellas is it gay to think your enemy has a nice smile?

by neilwrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Crack, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neilwrites/pseuds/neilwrites
Summary: The one where:- Voldemort doesn't exist,- Draco and Harry are still enemies but neither of them remembers why exactly they hate each other,- they're both morosexuals in denial,- no one will admit to having feelings, ew gross- they all swear in a mix of American and British because I said so.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 22
Kudos: 230
Collections: HP TransFest 2020





	fellas is it gay to think your enemy has a nice smile?

**Author's Note:**

> based on this fantastic prompt for HP Transfest:  
>  _Both Draco and Harry are FTM, but both are stealth and don't realize they have this in common. These two idiots are fighting and in some dumb way accidentally poke at each others genders/presentations and have a mutual angry coming out @ each other and then are like wait.... what. And then idk make out a stuff_
> 
> thanks again for the last minute beta, [simonspeaks!](http://simon--speaks.tumblr.com)
> 
> this fic stressed me out for a while until I decided to just go fully feral and enjoy the ride, so I hope you do too *finger guns in disaster gay*

Harry “Golden Boy” Potter has no right to look the way that he does. Nobody’s hair is that fucking shiny and unruly at the same time. There’s no reason for him to have freckles  _ and  _ beautiful brown skin. His shoulder to waist ratio is frankly unfair.

Draco loathes him. He’s a dumb quidditch-obsessed git, which is an insult Draco doesn’t say out loud a lot, considering he also likes quidditch quite a bit. It only took one of Pansy’s incredulous snorts for him to keep that one to his thoughts.

Potter is what Draco considers the alpha male stereotype. He grabs your attention when he walks into the room, people of all genders flock towards him and then he acts like he’s not even bloody doing anything.

It pisses Draco off. Mostly because that’s what Draco wishes would happen when  _ he  _ walked into a room.

Instead, he has to demand attention to get it. Of course, that won’t stop him from acting shamelessly needy when necessary (which is often), Draco simply thrives on attention. And, due to limited friendships and bad impressions all around, he’ll take whatever attention he can get. Anything to distract people from what they can never know.

* * *

“He’s staring at you again,” Ron says, sitting across from him in the great hall, munching on a waffle.

Harry doesn’t need to turn around or ask him who he’s talking about to know just who he means. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from turning around anyways and seeing Malfoy’s unreadable stare. He might describe it as…  _ constipated _ ? He rolls his eyes. “Just let him be, I’m too tired for this,” Harry yawns into his pumpkin juice. He rolls his shoulders and winces.

Hermione notices immediately, of course. “What time did you return from the Room of Requirement last night?”

Harry shrugs and hides how even that hurts a little. Discovering the Room of Requirement a few months ago had been a revelation for him, especially since it was filled with gym equipment when he first walked in. Things he’d only seen in magazines when the Dursleys weren’t home were now right in front of him, daring him to try them out.

Growing up the way he had, he never trusted things to still be there whenever he returned, so Harry went to the room almost every night. 

Ron had joined him a few times but quickly decided it just wasn’t for him, and while Hermione knows what it means to Harry, that doesn’t stop her from scolding him when he falls behind on homework or when he overdoes it.

“When did he return, Ronald?”

Harry sends a panicked look Ron’s way, but he should have known it was pointless. Ron doesn’t know how to lie to Hermione anymore.

“Well after midnight,” Ron admits. “Sorry, mate.”

“Traitor,” Harry mumbles.

Of course, he knows his friends mean well. They’ve been with him from the very start when he begrudgingly made his way up a staircase that quickly turned into a slide instead. They’ve had his back every step of the way, and he can’t ever thank them enough for that.

They know Harry hated the comments about him being scrawny, thin, lanky; and they know how much better he started feeling once he built up some muscle.

Hermione’s unimpressed look puts him in his place and he smiles sheepishly.

“Any chance of you helping me with my potions essay?”

Hermione tsks. “About as much chance of you and Malfoy hooking up.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “What?!”

* * *

The Ravenclaw-Gryffindor quidditch match is taking ridiculously long to finish. The weather took a turn for the horrendous and it’s been pissing it down for the last hour, no doubt making the hunt for the snitch even harder, and yet Draco is still in the stands.

Pansy had called him a fool, Blaise had simply raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth, and Draco had told them it was because he loved the sport. He ignored Pansy’s “ _ Of course, darling _ ”.

Draco’s wearing his hat so low people can’t make out his hair color, intentionally done since he took a seat in the Ravenclaw stands but doesn’t cheer when they score. Luckily for him, it doesn’t happen very often.

Potter whips by every now and then, and somehow, windswept and drenched from head to toe, he still manages to look like a damn model. It’s incredibly rude, and the fit of those dragonhide pants should be illegal.

Would Snape take points off Slytherin again if he asked about that?

There’s some movement next to him, but Draco doesn’t take his eyes off Harry’s thighs until he hears the soft clearing of a throat.

“Hello, Draco.”

Draco does  _ not  _ flinch in surprise, thank you. “Luna.”

“I’m surprised to see you cheering for us,” she says, smiling while looking across the big field.

“Fuck off, I’m not,” Draco mumbles without thinking about it.

“Ah, then I’m even more surprised!”

Draco sighs impatiently. “I’m not cheering for him— for  _ them  _ either! I’m just scoping out the competition.”

“Didn’t you stop playing last year?”

“Merlin, stop being so nosy, Lovegood!” Draco shouts before lowering his voice quickly. “It’s none of your business why I’m here.”

“Alright,” Luna says. Then, after a lull in the game, she asks even more quietly. “Are you okay?”

Draco won’t admit this to anyone, but Luna is probably his third closest friend. She is not allowed to know this.

When Draco was thirteen years old, there was some Gryffindor fifth year who made a comment about his long hair, and instead of saying his face resembled the back-end of a troll (which it did), he ran away. He ran and ran until he stumbled upon a bathroom, locked it behind him and took a final look in the mirror. He untied his hair, let it fall around his face and allowed himself to cry for just a few seconds. Then he took a big breath, wiped away the tears and cut his hair with a firm  _ Diffindo _ .

Draco was shocked to hear his own elated laugh echo around the room, but not as shocked as when a soft-pitched voice behind him said: “That looks nice.”

Draco turned around to see a Ravenclaw girl whose name he had forgotten, or more likely, never took the time to remember.

“It’s a bit uneven at the back, though,” the girl continued. “Can I help?”

Draco could only nod, and she got to work. He could feel the hair falling down his shoulders and back while she narrated. “I’ve only been able to practice on the gnomes in our garden, but dad always tells me they look great, so I hope I can do the same for you.”

He’s only alarmed until he can see she’s actually pretty good at it. “Thank you. Your gnomes are quite lucky.”

“They move around a lot more, so it’s easier on you,” she says, smiling at him in the mirror. “There, better?”

Draco takes a deep breath and releases some more unexpected laughter. “Much better.”

Now, three years later, Luna is still there for him even though he is terrible at being her friend.

“I’m fine,” Draco snaps and immediately regrets it. “Sorry, I… I don’t even know why the hell I’m out here.”

Luna smiles kindly and thankfully doesn’t call him out on his bullshit. She curls her hand and tugs at the hair peeking from under Draco’s hat. “You want a trim?”

It works like a charm to lift Draco’s mood. “Yes, please. I want to do something completely different.”

* * *

Draco Malfoy is trying to kill Harry, he’s sure of it. Usually, the little prick sticks to insulting him in class or spreading rumours, but today he’s trying to destroy him with the way he looks.

He has...an undercut. This is devastating in its own right, but the hair on top is slightly wavy and tousled, which means that Draco has diligently been using a straightening charm on his hair for the past five years.

This is a clear attempt on his life because Harry almost walked into two separate walls when he saw him.

“What the shit,” Harry says once the shock fades. Unfortunately, Malfoy isn’t quite out of reach when he says it, and he turns with a glare.

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

Harry is frozen in place, not expecting this reaction at all.

“No really, say it to my face,” Malfoy spits. “Does it make you feel like a big macho man to insult me behind my back?”

Harry sputters, utterly confused at the turn this took. “I didn’t say anything!”

“I  _ heard  _ you, Potter, don’t fucking try to lie!”

“Then get your bloody ears checked, cause I didn’t call you anything, you big baby,” Harry throws back. “And don’t talk to me about insulting people behind their back when you do it all the time. You’re a massive hypocrite.”

“ _ Excuse me _ ,” Malfoy shouts, “I insult people to their face, four-eyes!”

“Wow, that’s original.”

Malfoy is turning an alarming shade of red. “I usually have more time to think about it, you arse.”

Hermione, who has been watching this happen quietly, finally interrupts them. “Are you two done? We do have somewhere to be, actually.”

Malfoy seems to have calmed down a little. “Tell your  _ mate  _ to stop insulting people’s looks, then.”

Hermione pulls her eyebrow up impressively high. “You  _ just  _ called him four-eyes.”

“I’m telling you I don’t work well under pressure,” Draco admits before stilling. “Pretend I didn’t say that. That and the four-eyes thing. Merlin’s braided pubes. I need to stop speaking.” He shakes his head and schools his face. “Bye.”

When he speed-walks off —showing Harry just how tight his pants fit his arse, wow—, Harry turns to Hermione to see if she knows what the hell just happened.

She just rolls her eyes at him. “I swear, you’re both hopeless.”

“Huh?” Harry asks. 

* * *

Draco is lying across an armchair, staring at the ceiling with his legs dangling off one of the arms.

“Blaise,” he says, not bothering to actually turn to his friend.

“Yes, Draco.”

“I think I’m gay.”

“Okay, Draco.”

Now he does turn his head. “What, that’s it?”

“Sorry,” Blaise says. “Would you like me to act more surprised?”

“I-,” Draco briefly considers it. “No. You knew?”

Blaise shrugs. “I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to say something.”

“Does Pansy know too?”

“Dunno,” Blaise shrugs. “We don’t talk about you behind your back.”

Ridiculously, that warms Draco’s heart. “Oh.”

“So, what brought on this confession?”

Draco pinches the skin on his wrist before admitting, “I wanted to say I hate men, especially the ones I’m into.”

“Is this about Potter?”

Draco briefly chokes on his own tongue. “What makes you say that?”

Blaise snorts. “Someone you hate but want to snog stupid, right?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Draco mutters. 

“My bad for thinking you’d want to fully confess,” Blaise says calmly. “I’ll wait until you’re ready for the rest.”

“There is no rest!”

Draco lies there with his thoughts for another few minutes until he can’t hold back his thoughts.

“He’s just such a stereotype!”

Blaise rolls up his homework and rolls his eyes. “Here we go.”

“Youngest to ever get on the quidditch team, like that wasn’t just  _ handed  _ to him by his  _ own Head of house _ ,” Draco starts. “Meanwhile Snape only let me on for one year and then I got bloody replaced because Father noticed it was making me  _ happy… _ ”

“Not sure how that’s Potter’s fault,” Blaise mutters but Draco ignores him.

“And  _ why  _ do people keep fawning over him, haven’t they noticed how flat his arse is?”

“Why are you staring at his arse, Draco?”

* * *

Harry wonders if the other Houses are equally as obsessed with underage drinking and gossiping in their common rooms as Gryffindor is. 

Dean and Seamus know someone in Hogsmeade who can get them drinks, and thanks to the Marauder’s map they can smuggle it in without any of the professors catching them. Everything else depends on McGonagall going to bed early or just not being arsed to check up on them. 

That being said, some mornings in Transfigurations there isn’t a single Gryffindor who can keep their head up and McGonagall always has a knowing glare on her face. She can hardly take points from an entire year of her House, right? Well, she hasn’t done it yet.

People from the sixth and seventh year are sitting in the cliché circle, and everyone under sixteen has been sent upstairs. They all know what’s going on, though, but no one’s willing to snitch on their own House.

Eventually, as it usually happens, someone mentions the words ‘truth or dare’. Hermione is given the choice to switch outfits with Ron or drink a shot and slams one back without hesitation.

Ron surreptitiously smells his armpits and pulls a face. “That’s fair.”

Neville struggles his way through a haiku for his crush and blushes once it’s all over. It didn’t suck total ass, actually, and now Harry wonders who’s caught Neville’s attention. It was all very vague with comparisons to rare plants, and Harry’s too drunk to think too hard about it.

Next, Seamus opts for “Truth,” until he sees the excited look on Neville’s face and changes it to “Dare, bloody dare!” 

A half-hearted handstand ends in a pile of limbs as he falls on top of Dean, and he straightens himself with a face the shade of a ripe tomato. Dean looks elated.

“Harry,” he attempts to distract everyone by continuing the game. 

Harry is pleasantly buzzed and smiles in his direction. “Seamus?”

“Truth or dare, mate.”

“Oh. I don’t know, you decide.”

It takes another few seconds for Harry to realize that was possibly a mistake.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Neville make his way over to him and whisper in his ear. Harry needs his sober brain tomorrow to remember not to trust Neville again.

“If you could change bodies with someone in our year, for like, a day, who would you choose?”

Alright fine, maybe Harry has thought about this before. He knows how to appreciate the male body, people don’t escape his glances just because they’re from a different, infinitely  _ less cool _ House.

“Hmm, maybe… Zabini?”

Some people nod around him in approval or agreement.

“It’s not even about the muscles,” Harry clarifies. “Though, they definitely help.”

Another few nods, and a snort that sounds like it came from Hermione.

“Just, have you seen how tall he is? That paired with the muscles, and the frankly unfairly clear skin, yep, I’d wanna know what that was like.”

Someone who Harry’s absent mind can’t recognize says, “I bet he could bench-press Malfoy.”

Now  _ that’s a thought _ .

Wait, no.

Stop thinking about Malfoy, Harry.

“Nah, he’s too uptight to be touched,” someone else says.

Stop thinking about  _ touching  _ Malfoy, Harry.

“Do you think he’s ever been touched by another human being that wasn’t his mommy?”

“Hey,” Harry says, “Don’t get nasty.” Harry makes a mental note of who made the comments after he sees their sheepish faces.

“Yeah,” Parvati adds. “Just because you have no standards, doesn’t mean everyone’s as easy as you.”

Hermione tsks. “No shaming in the circle…”

“Except when they’re acting like dicks,” Parvati finishes their rule and Hermione nods before emptying her bottle of butterbeer.

Harry knows he shouldn’t feel bad for Malfoy given how the little shit has treated him in the past, but something hit a nerve there. 

Malfoy probably grew up getting whatever he wanted before he could even say the words and it often reminds Harry of Dudley. He and Malfoy couldn’t have grown up more different. Where Malfoy enjoyed fine dining prepared by their house-elves, Harry got the scraps if the Dursleys didn’t finish their food.

Malfoy surely gets his outfits tailored for him, and Harry had to wear Dudley’s smelly and torn hand-me-downs until he got some money for himself.

Malfoy oozes confidence that comes from a loving family, his parents’ support, and Harry has never had the opportunity to tell his parents he loves them. He never had the chance to tell them about himself, his  _ true self _ , but he likes to think they would have understood and supported him.

Alcohol makes him fucking sad. 

The comment about being touched was not cool, though. Harry, growing up touch-starved and simultaneously touch-repulsed, knows what it’s like to have certain boundaries that don’t always make sense, even to himself. He doesn’t need to know what Malfoy’s deal is to know it’s not something to make fun of. Bringing up his mother just made it even worse.

So far for not thinking about Malfoy. Harry fills his empty glass with water and downs it before making his way to the boy’s dorm. He needs to sleep this feeling off or pretty soon he’ll start feeling sorry for Malfoy, and that’s the last thing he needs.

* * *

On their first friendship anniversary, Luna snuck Draco a note inviting him to celebrate in the astronomy tower. When he finally arrived there, he was ready to call the friendship off simply based on the number of stairs he had to walk up to get there. 

It’s exactly two years later in that same spot, and they’re staring up at the starry sky while drinking Wizard’s Brew. Draco has no idea how Luna manages to sneak it into Hogwarts and he won’t ask either. It’s tasty, it makes him happy and Luna never laughs at him for what he admits when he’s drunk on stout.

“Happy third friendaversary, Luna.”

Luna’s dainty hand reaches over to pat Draco on the forehead. “Happy to have met you,” she says, and Draco’s inner eye corners start itching for  _ no goddamn reason _ .

After he’s done pretending some dust landed in his eye, he sighs.

“Blame this on the Brew,” Draco starts, using their agreed code indicating things are about to get stupid. “But, Potter doesn’t look half-bad, you know.”

Luna, light of his life, doesn’t snort even though she has every right to. “Doesn’t he?”

“His face is quite appealing,” Draco admits.

“Just the face, is it?”

Draco pouts. “Are you gloating? That’s not allowed.”

“Sorry, Draco, do go on.”

“You want me to continue telling you what I don’t despise about him? I thought you hated this kind of stuff?”

Luna smiles and shakes her head lightly. “I don’t fall in love with people, that doesn’t mean I don’t like seeing you suffer.”

“You’re a nuisance,” Draco says. “But fine, he’s also fucking built.”

“That is true.”

“And when I listen in on his conversations, which to be clear, I  _ don’t  _ do,” Draco is quick to cover his tracks. “He can also be, well, bloody hilarious. But he can’t know that, it’ll go to his head.”

“His appealing head.”

“That’s the one.”

“So,” Luna sits up a little, looking down at him. “Why don’t you tell him that?”

Draco laughs loudly before realizing she’s being serious. “Why the hell would I do that?”

Luna’s eyebrows are doing weird things. “I know I’m not up-to-date on normal teenage behaviour, but maybe so you could snog him? Feel him up? Do the horizontal Joggle?”

“I don’t want to know what a Joggle is,” Draco pulls a face. “Also,  _ no _ , I don’t want that, it’s  _ Potter _ !”

“You like him!” Luna throws back at him.

“From far away!”

“Hah, so you admit it!”

“Luna,” Draco whines. “It wouldn’t work, it’s  _ Potter _ ,” he emphasizes.

“What about him?”

“He’s popular, and a dumb jock! I can’t date a fucking  _ himbo _ , Luna.”

“Oh?” Luna says, “And what brought you to that prejudicial thought?”

Draco sighs in defeat. “Maybe it’s not even him. Maybe it’s about me.”

“Self-hatred’s not allowed, Draco, that’s one of the founding rules of this friendship.”

“I’m a lot to handle, though, aren’t I? I can’t expect people to just be okay with it.”

“That’s exactly what you should expect,” Luna says, a righteous force behind her words. “People who aren’t okay with you should get some dirigible plums inserted straight up their arse.”

Draco chokes on some of his Brew. 

“Hear me out, Draco,” Luna says, handing him a handkerchief embroidered with the aforementioned plums. “Why don’t you try talking to him? He might be alright, you know? I mean,  _ I do know _ , he’s my friend and all.”

“I suppose I can’t fault your taste.”

“No, you cannot.”

Draco reluctantly agrees. “Fine, I will try. That’s all I’ll promise you.”

“Good,” Luna says with a pleased smile. “Thank me later.”

* * *

Harry wants it known that he fully meant to be friendly with Malfoy after he walked up to him, said “Potter, could we speak?” and walked off into an empty classroom.

He wants it known, because it is  _ not  _ his fault that this turned into another fight, and  _ not  _ his fault that Malfoy doesn’t know how to shut his pretty mouth when he needs to.

He doesn’t even really know what Malfoy had intended the conversation to be about, all he knows is Malfoy scoffed once Harry said he was needed at Quidditch practice.

“I’m sure they can survive two seconds without their prodigy.”

“I’m the captain,” Harry says. “I scheduled the practice.”

“Are you saying they can’t survive without you? Now you’re just insulting your own team—”

Harry rolled his eyes so far back they hurt. “Mother of  _ balls _ , Malfoy, what the shit do you want?”

That was sort of the turning point.

“No need to be rude, Potter, I was trying to appeal to your better nature, but I realize now I can’t do that if it doesn’t exist.”

Harry squints while he thinks. “Are you insulting me? Again? You pulled me away from my friends and my favourite pastime to call me names?”

“Technically, I haven’t called you anything.”

“So now I’m stupid?”

“I’m not  _ not  _ calling you stupid,” Draco mutters.

Harry is seething. “Listen, you little fucking shit, I’m kinda tired of you calling me an idiot. You have no idea what my life is like.”

“Oh I’m sure it’s really hard being the star of the show,” Draco says sarcastically, and Harry sort of wants to punch him in the face. “Tough job having everything handed to you.”

He might actually do it. His fist is shaking and Harry doesn’t feel like stopping it.

“Handed to me? That’s rich coming from you! Unlike some people, I actually had to work for where I am today—”

“Don’t call me fucking  _ lazy _ —”

“And you don’t have the faintest clue how much effort I put into the friends I have and the life I get to lead, because good things just fall in your lap, don’t they?”

“They don’t,  _ actually _ ,” Malfoy spits. “Unless you want me to think my dad not talking to me for three years is a good thing? Huh?”

“What?” Harry is confused about what that has to do with anything.

“Am I lucky that my mother fakes his autograph on her letters from home? Don’t tell me I have it easy, when my life is just as hard as yours, shitface!”

“No shit, asshole! But why are you constantly fighting me on things when I’ve done nothing to you but exist!” Harry yells, hoping the crowd outside has dissipated so they don’t hear the cracks in their voices.

Malfoy scoffs again. “You wouldn’t understand, Potter. Not when you look like that, and I had to fight tooth and nail to be  _ allowed  _ to look like this.”

“I… What? Allowed?” Harry asks, bewildered. He doesn’t know what possesses him to just admit, “I wasn’t fucking…  _ born  _ like this, Malfoy.”

Incredulously, that makes Malfoy cackle. “Yeah, me neither,  _ literally _ .”

“Huh?” Harry says, “I’m serious.”

Draco stills. “What?”

“Fuck, don’t make me regret telling you this, but… Ugh, bloody hell, I don’t care anymore. I was born in the wrong body, okay?”

Malfoy says nothing, eyes wide in shock.

“Malfoy?” It’d be nice if Harry could just gouge the situation, see if he needs to square up or not.

Malfoy swallows thickly, and with a small voice says, “Me too, you’re not  _ special _ .”

“I- What?”

Unbelievably, Malfoy’s eyes open even wider, seemingly surprised at his own admission.

“I have to go,” he says, not waiting for a response from Harry before he runs out of the room, leaving Harry dazed and confused.

* * *

Draco did not realize how often he crossed paths with Harry Potter in a single week until he tried avoiding him.

It turns out, he’s quite hard to avoid. Especially when every time their eyes meet Harry says, “Draco,” and Draco has to pretend like he didn’t see him, or like he forgot something and has to turn back, or there was that one time in class where he pretended he didn’t speak English and just started speaking French.

He’s well aware he can’t run from Harry forever, not after what happened between them. While he doesn’t regret coming out to him, he regrets the way in which it happened. Firstly, can they ever have a conversation where they don’t want to  _ throw hands _ ? But more importantly, he never expected Harry to come out to him either. It was unexpected, and very much unnecessary, but it did help put things in perspective, at least a little. Draco’s coming out was more of an afterthought, really, not well-thought-through at all. He just figured, this is a good moment to say it, and then did.

And then he ran.

It doesn’t take a lot of soul-searching to realize it’s because Draco’s terrified. He knows that much. He likes Harry, quite a bit, and he didn’t allow himself to like him because they were so different. But now it turns out they’re not. 

That’s scary and exciting, terrifying but encouraging. There’s just this mental hurdle stopping him from talking to Harry about it, the one person who knows what it’s like.

“Draco,” Harry says, and Draco jumps in surprise.

He’s sitting on a window bench somewhere on the third floor, and he hadn’t told anyone where he was going. Nobody needed to be confronted with his wallowing in self-pity. In fact, Pansy and Blaise had lovingly asked him to “fucking take a walk or something”.

“How the fuck did you find me?” he asks, and Harry grins.

“You speak English today?”

“Oh, sod off,” Draco chuckles, too tired to object.

“So can we talk about it now?”

Draco tries his best to shut his feelings off. “Talk about what?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Draco, that’s my job.”

A very unflattering snort leaves Draco’s nostrils. “What’s there to say,” he asks, readying himself for rejection.

Harry rolls his eyes and says, “Well, I think you’re hot, and I kind of want to find out what snogging you is like.”

Draco chokes on some of his spit and turns to face Harry head-on. “Pardon?”

“Wanna make out?”

He guffaws. “You hate me!”

“A lot less than I thought I did,” Harry admits, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Why would you want to kiss someone you hate?” Draco really should shut up in the face of this glorious opportunity, but he can’t seem to stop talking.

Harry grins, and Draco hates how good it makes him look. “I have a theory that it makes it even better, wanna help me test it out?”

“But I-”

“What were you going to tell me?”

Draco is having trouble keeping up with this conversation, in all honesty. “What?”

“Last week, when you pulled me aside. What were you going to say?”

“I- I mean…” Draco’s dry throat clicks as he tries to swallow. “Just that I felt bad that we always fought. I couldn’t even say the words before we started fucking screaming at each other again. And, I guess, that you don’t completely suck. I suppose I don’t hate you fully either.” Draco shrugs and feels his cheeks heat up. “But whenever we start talking to each other, the conversation just derails and I keep opening my mouth, trust me I know that’s an issue, but the words just come out and—”

“Draco,” Harry says, walking closer and standing between Draco’s spread legs stretched out over the window seat. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Draco challenges,  _ begs _ , and lets Harry’s lips shut him up.

There’s not a single thought floating around, his head completely empty as Harry’s lips are pressed against his, lighting him up inside.

It’s  _ very  _ nice.

“It is, Harry mumbles against him, letting him know he said that out loud, and Draco can feel the corners of his mouth lifting against his own.

Harry is blessed with full lips, and Draco’s always been kind of obsessed with them, so it only stands to reason he takes his time getting acquainted with them better, chasing after them when they leave him too soon and whining about it.

“Come back,” he whispers, and Harry pushes against him more, landing his hands on Draco’s waist and squeezing him closer. Draco huffs in surprise at the touch, giving Harry the perfect opportunity to kiss him again, tongue brushing against his own as he deepens it.

Draco’s never been kissed like this. It’s sensual, comfortable, remarkably easy. 

His own hands rest in Harry’s hair —where they belong if you ask him— making an even bigger mess of it as he is getting snogged to within an inch of his life. It’s payback, really. 

When Harry’s lips leave his own and their foreheads rest against one another, Draco chuckles as he asks, “So, what’s the result of the test?”

“Inconclusive evidence,” Harry grins, and Draco can count his freckles from this close-up. “We should probably continue testing.”

“Alright,” Draco says, pulling Harry closer by his tie. “If we must.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [twitter!](http://twitter.com/neilmoony)


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